


How Homer Jackson Got his Walking Papers

by almina



Category: Ripper Street
Genre: M/M, additional male character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-16 04:42:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16078664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almina/pseuds/almina
Summary: Homer Jackson troubled Reid for more reasons than Reid allowed himself to think about





	How Homer Jackson Got his Walking Papers

Inspector Reid knocked on Jackson's door. No response, no sounds from within.

Drunk again most likely. Reid drew a deep breath. He felt very conscious of the lockpick kit in his pocket a gift from Abberline who had no hesitation about letting himself into Reid's house. Reid rarely used the picks, and only on his own door, only because Abberline reminded him to keep his hand in and even took him to lockpicking contests to set aside forever any illusion of security

He did not want to worry about his dissolute American, but here it was past noon he had not yet visited his usual haunts. Perhaps he had contracted a contagion from a body in the dead room and was now fevered and dying.

Reid reached into his pocket. The instruments felt right in his hand, an extension of his body. He felt as much as heard the pins move. And there it was that gratification as the lock yielded to him. "It's like a woman," said the victor at contest he had most recently attended at Abberline's insistence.

Reid twisted the door handle. The door opened without a sound. Reid went inside, taking in the airy high ceilinged surgery, medical impedimenta, anatomical studies on the walls, the glass doored instrument cabinets, apothecary drawers. He thought he should call out Jackson's name but he found himself enjoying this home invasion. He glanced through the glassed in wall at the bedroom and yes, There was Jackson in bed lying on his side and good Lord that was a man he had his arm around. The sheet covered covered them to their waists. Reid gasped. That man looked so like Hobbs Reid had to remind himself that Hobbs had been laid under the earth weeks gone by. 

Reid's first impulse was to back out, leave, try to unsee what just burned into his retinas. His surgeon raised his head off the pillow. 

"Jackson?" Reid finally spoke. Jackson pressed a kiss onto the scalp of the man who lay beside him. He swung his legs out of the bed, stood up naked, lithe and feral looking. His spent penis was of a size to do damage. To Reid's relief Jackson put on a robe before he came out to the front room. 

"I take it you are letting me know you can get into my rooms any old time you feel like it."

Reid's mouth was open a little.. "I thought you might be ill, or injured."

"Or dead drunk."

Reid could only nod. He conscientiously kept his eyes off the man in Jackson's bed. Jackson had a wicked little smile on his face. 

"Remarkably like Hobbs, no? He's a chemist, pharmaceutical specialty. He not only looks like Hobbs but resembles him in character. I find the same sweetness about him, he's quick to learn, always trying to do the right thing, the kind thing. I suspect Hobbs' old man catted around, probably favored a certain type of woman so his legitimate children and bastards alike resemble each other. You're trying not to stare. I certainly did when I first saw him behind the counter and in his lab. I can't help wondering what you would do if I had seduced your doppelganger instead and you let yourself in to see me having my way with him.?"

Jackson couldn't have said anything more discomfiting. 

" I refuse to apologize for what you saw when you let yourself in.. In fact I am pleased that you now know for a certainty what you must have suspected."

Reid turned to leave. 

"No, stay. I have to be up anyway. Coffee?" Jackson went to the kitchen. Reid hated himself for the impulse to walk out, to hurry away, to pretend he did not know this thing about Jackson's life. He made himself stay. Minutes later he smelled coffee brewing. Jackson set a cup on a side table for Reid. Jackson's friend stirred, came out of the bedroom wearing a robe, thank God. Did he he store that robe here? Did he and Jackson live together? Almost -Hobbs padded across the front room/surgery to the bathroom. Reid heard the shower. In a while , the man emerged, toweling his hair. He was very much at home here with Jackson. 

"You're Reid are you not? Homer talks about you all the time. I must admit I am jealous."

By reflex, Reid stood and reached to shake hands with this man who struck him as decent and personable. How do you do?" just as if he were introducing himself to someone respectable, a professional man who did not have sex with drunken Americans. Reid reeled to think Jackson had allowed this man to believe that he and Jackson had ..that he and Jackson were... Reid feared the social fallout, but worse was the sneaking pleasure he felt as he considered the transgression he had not committed. He might have been the one in bed beside Jackson. A drink too many, curiosity, anything could have precipitated it.

The incident would not leave Reid's mind, though he told himself all day, that some things are best ignored.

Despite his forensic gifts and leaps of perception, Jackson was a flagrant example of everything a police officer should not be. He was a walking temptation. He gambled. He drank to unconsciousness. He whored. He was no stranger to his own sex.. The propriety of their relationship, depended entirely on Reid's restraint. 

Appearances mattered, Jackson's self indulgence could tank his career. Jackson would of course survive, scuttle off to another dead room, and become invaluable to someone less susceptible to his charm.

Reid opened the door to the dead room at Leman Street. Jackson was not there. As he would not be there for months, years to come if Reid did the sensible thing. He sagged against the door jamb, grief undermining his resolve. Reid wanted it to fail; he loved Jackson's company, the way their minds ran together. If only, if only he could count on a modicum of discretion from his American. But he could not. 

Reid discharged Jackson when he came in late that afternoon. Something in his chest constricted as he watched Jackson walk away.


End file.
